Hawaiian Veela
by Le Mon KeyserSoze
Summary: After Azkaban, Draco is exiled to the muggle realm where he became a reputable brigadier of the New York russian mafia. Motivated by a small act of kindness from Hermione years ago, he fakes his death in order to live a quiet life as a philantrophist, small business owner, and casual surfer. However, an unexpected reunion with Granger threatens to change his new way of living.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?

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Chapter 1 – Rotten Egg

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When the magistrate stated the verdict, I did not know how to describe my reaction.

I was feeling multiple emotions, all at once.

I felt fear for I was condemned to spend five years in Azkaban and then be banished from the magical realm as soon as my fifth year of imprisonment is accomplished.

I felt frustration that my father was given a life sentence in Azkaban, despite the fact that he was already dying from a terminal curse inflicted during the war.

I felt grief at the idea that my father will die at a cold prison cell, awaiting a dementor's kiss or his terminal curse to kill him.

I felt traces of happiness, knowing that my mother will not be sent to Azkaban because she indirectly saved Potter's life.

I felt immense sadness that my mother will be on house arrest for the rest of her life, and that I am not to catch a glimpse of her unless she is dying or dead.

I felt hatred for the situation that I am in, hatred for the mistakes that my family committed.

But the most prominent emotion that I felt was relief.

I felt relief that I was not supposed to die. I felt relief that I will still be alive in the end.

I felt relief, and this relief made me feel so wrong and guilty.

I felt guilty.

I felt guilty because my parents are given heavier consequences whereas I have been given a lighter sentence simply due to my age.

I felt guilty because eventually my suffering will end someday, but my parents will continue to suffer until they die.

I felt guilty.

I felt so guilty.

I deserved a heavier sentence, I know that. I do. But I can't..I can't say a word at that time.

I just felt that I didn't have the right to say my opinion.

I felt so guilty.

"That is the best deal we could get, boy. Don't worry, you have a long life ahead of you." My assigned barrister commented, patting my back as soon as my family was sentenced; he wore a fake smile which I actually found comforting. At least he treated me as a human, not a pariah.

I tried to smile back..but I couldn't even let my eyes to regard the barrister's reluctant kindness.

Other than being spoken to, I didn't dare to look at anyone else. I didn't want to see the disgusted look on their faces. I didn't want to see their anger or their pained look for dealing with someone like me. I already know that they didn't want me to be around, I don't want to further torture myself by watching them express their repulsed faces.

Stepping off from the booth, I do my best to screen out the outrage from the audience.

I tried distracting myself with visions of sitting by the sea on a sunny afternoon, watching the wind shift fronds of coconut trees. I can hear the ocean calling, feel the sun warm up my skin. The breeze feels nice and cool as it combs my hair.

For a second, I thought that I was actually there because I feel a cool sensation at the back of my head.

But I was wrong.

A gust of tropical wind wasn't brushing the back of my head.

Someone from the room threw an egg on the back of my head.

And then I hear a roar of laughter from behind, ridiculing me thoroughly.

The egg smelled, it was rotten.

I have never felt so embarrassed in my life, so disgruntled to the point that I paused and simply stood.

The insult was completely medieval, intentionally done in a way that muggleborns insult each other.

The rotten egg was a message, the rotten egg was a way to insult the blood supremacy which was ingrained to me since I was born.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know whether I should shout at all of them, curse them to oblivion, or simply walk away.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel gentle pats at the spot where the egg hit me. Someone out of the crowd, decides to wipe off the foul liquid dripping slowly to my worn coat. The gesture was so strange, it was gentle and endearing. Ever since the war began, any form of affection was taken away from me. Even a kiss or hug from my mother was not allowed at the manor. And then..this gentle caress.

This unforeseen pity made me feel so much comfort.

Comfort at the idea that I was not completely hated. Comfort that I am not completely damned.

My eyes started to water, threatening to spill from my face.

But I will myself not to show this vulnerable emotion.

I will myself not to cry. I won't give them that satisfaction.

I may be a bastard in their eyes, but I won't let them show how weak I really am towards to their insults.

"You'll be alright..you can get through this.." The person who is helping me, states with a female voice.

The room grew quiet, as I was being given such kindness. So much so that I wanted to know the person who decides to go against the majority.

I want to know this righteous, defiant fool who decides to wipe off my well-deserved humiliation.

I look behind me and shuddered, gaping at the person beside me who is still cleaning remnants of the egg from my neck.

The person..is Hermione Granger.

"You can survive..have a different life." She continues to encourage, ignoring my stunned composure.

Instantly, my knees feel weak and cold sweat started to perspire from the sides of my face.

I see flashbacks of her, being tortured in the manor. I hear her screaming in front of me, screaming for her life.

I started to shiver uncontrollably, right in front of her.

I close my eyes shut, wanting the past to go away, hoping that she would leave me.

I can handle the crowd, I can handle their hatred.

What I cannot handle however, is looking at her directly in the eyes. Her eyes that are only exudes compassion.

Her compassionate eyes, her sad lips, her concerned face..everything about her.

I don't need it..I don't deserve it.

I don't deserve her compassion. I don't deserve her mercy.

Without asking my permission, without asking whether it was okay, she took my trembling hand with hers.

Her hands, are warm and..confident. She doesn't squirm from touching me..she is treating me like any typical human being.

Another rush of comfort washes over me, but then I see the gauze wrapping her arm.

The gauze wraps the arm which Aunt Bella scarred.

I recall that night. I recall her screaming at my floor. I recall the word that is now branded underneath the gauze.

Mudblood.

Mudblood.

Mudblood.

I cringe.

"Malfoy.." She calls me, disrupting my rampant thoughts.

Still holding my quivering hand, she fold the cloth she used to wipe off the rotten egg from my head. There are still remnants of the egg under my cloak, I guess she decided that I would clean up the rest.

The cloth is a pale blue handkerchief, now tainted with splotches of green and yellow goo.

"Thank you." I managed to say faintly, doing my best to control my urge to run away.

Her eyebrow quirk slightly from what I have stated, she is understandably surprised that I would express gratitude.

But she doesn't know..She doesn't know that this might actually be the only chance that I would thank her.

I may not be worthy to apologize for all the things I have done to her, for treating her like filth, for letting her be tortured.

But I should at least..thank her. Thanking her is all I can offer.

"You're welcome." Granger replies quietly.

Having given the proper etiquette of being grateful, I realize that I wasn't as conscious as I was – about the crowd that is now simply staring at the both of us.

I regained a little bit of my pride for thanking her.

Seeing as I can finally leave in peace, I decided to leave before I crumble on my knees from exhaustion.

With as much integrity as I could muster, I keep my eyes forward and followed the guards to Azkaban.

Still holding the cloth used to clean the rot from my head, I grip it tightly.

The piece of cloth reminds me of the sky, something I will look forward to after I pay for my sins.

Hell might be waiting for me at the other side, but I think I can endure it now.

When I make it, when I managed to survive, I will leave this place of suffering..this world where I have failed.

I will leave to go somewhere far away, somewhere that is not bleak or cold from the aftermath of war.

Perhaps I will be lying beside the sea on a sunny afternoon, watching the wind shift fronds of coconut trees.

I would be in a place where I can hear the ocean calling, feel the sun warm up my skin.

A place where the breeze feels nice and cool as it combs my hair.

A place where I can begin again.

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 _I woke this morning_  
 _And much to my dismay_  
 _The snows been falling_  
 _It's been coming down since yesterday_  
 _I go outside_  
 _To try and start my car -_  
 _Three hours later_  
 _I haven't gone very far_

 _\- Tom Felton_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?

Chapter 2 - Fly

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This is the fourth time I have seen a fly on the bars of my small window.

Unlike the others, this one doesn't crawl or float around in order to know why my space smells so awful.

Instead of touching my head or licking the soles of my feet, it just hangs there.

I don't really mind if the fly stays where it is, but the insect is distracting me from the view outside.

The sky is light blue, not a spot of cloud today. No birds either, no flying dementors.

I want to observe the outside more, but the fly is really getting to me.

It just stands there, no buzzing or twitching of wings. The fly appears to be staring at me.

But that is preposterous, why would a fly simply stare at me?

I think I am losing my mind; thinking that flies have a hidden agenda other than following dead bodies is crazy.

But then, I think I have lost my mind for a while now, ever since I ran out of wall to scratch out the days I have spent in this godforsaken place. Ever since I heard my father calling my name as he was dying in the cell next to mind.

Yes, I think I lost it at that time..when I heard father gurgling sounds of desperation.

He was dying a few inches away from me, but I couldn't help him or demand for help.

I don't know the time or day that he died..I don't know how many years have passed. I think I have been staying here for decades..waiting for my death. Father died..for some time now. He died from the terminal curse which he has taken from the war, a dementor didn't bother to get the last of his soul. I think the dementor's kiss was more merciful.

His body was disposed of by burning, I actually smelled his body burn to ash.

After smelling his burning flesh..I seem to have lost my sense of smell.

Losing my sense of smell is actually a benefit for me. Ever since I got here, I haven't had a decent shower. Once in a while, the vents will fill with soapy cold water until I could actually reach the window of my prison. The window is at least five feet taller than me. During those times when we are lucky to bathe, a lot of the prisoners tend to drown themselves intentionally.

Oddly enough, I made sure that I didn't drown. I figure that drowning myself would be the best decision I can do, but I..I just keep on forgetting. They would fill my room through the vents, the water reaching the window. And yet, I forget to drown myself every time. Why? Why do I forget? I obviously don't have much to look forward to. Why not drown myself?

I close my eyes, recalling the last time that they gave us a cleansing.

I..can't remember all the details..I think it was a week ago..I think.

I..I remember the water rushing through the vents. They decided to make us smell like lemon today, with a strong hint of disinfectant which I think is usually used for cleaning lavatories. The water was ice cold as usual, making us vulnerable to hypothermia if we do not move around. Whether we like it or not, the water would make us float to the top.

The chains on both of my legs would be long enough for me to reach the ceiling. Although seemingly heavy, the chains are actually designed to make us float to the surface. It is up to us if we would like to float to safety or pull on the chains in order for us to drown ourselves. Simple, right? I just have to stay on the floor, tangle myself to the chains and die.

But..every time..every single time. I still force myself to rise from the water. I would look forward to reaching my one window, looking at anything that is outside. Our occasional bath is randomly scheduled, sometimes I see the blue sky and a faint outline of mountains; most of the time I see the stars and the pale moon. The night baths are the coldest times.

I prefer the baths during the day, at least I could see mountains from far away..mountains and the ocean.

The ocean.

I always inhale deeply when I remember the ocean.

Every time I recall the sea, which I can see from my window during baths, I think of better days.

All my days before my days in Azkaban seem to be my better days but..I recall even better days. Back when I was still so young, back when..back before that war..yes..there was a war. I was in it..I was part of it..I was doing horrible things back then, horrible things. I..no. I shouldn't be thinking about the war..I was..I was thinking about something else. What was it?

I look at the fly sitting on my window. The sky outside my window is blue..

Ah yes, I remember the ocean. The ocean.

Now..I remember. The reason why I do not drown myself. The reason why I do not want to die.

The skies..the ocean..blue and calm..

Wait..wait..where is the cloth? The cloth I came with when I arrived here?

Frantically, I search my worn out coat, looking through the pockets.

I found it.

The cloth..a light blue handkerchief, like the sky..and the ocean.

I sighed.

If only I didn't lose my sense of smell, maybe I can still sniff some of the rotten egg from the cloth.

Rotten egg? Why would I like to sniff rotten eggs? That's disgusting.

Focus. Focus.

Ah yes..my better days.

I bring the cloth to rest on the middle of my chest.

I remember Christmas..I remember getting hugs from mother and hearing the light laughter of father at the balcony. I remember presents..I had so many of them. I didn't want anything that the present contained..I just liked opening them and looking at my parents. I liked opening presents because opening them made my parents smile..they made my parents happy.

Happy. Happiness. I miss those days.

I miss them, my family. I miss..I miss..

I grip on the cloth on my chest..thinking of other things which I miss.

The cloth..the cloth is light blue.

I seem to recall a dream about lying on a beach somewhere, listening to the waves and the rustling of coconut fronds.

The sky is light blue in that dream.

Ah yes, I remember. I miss having dreams.

I used to have dreams..a long time ago.

Beautiful dreams, dreams that I look forward to.

Now, most nights, I only look forward to nightmares.

I didn't like the nightmares before, I was already living in one. But the nightmares make me remember, reminded me that I had a life, and I squandered it from being afraid of something or someone. I was a coward in that life, I was pathetic. The nightmares, they remind me of who I was..they remind me of people I used to know, people I look down upon.

And..people I owe my life to.

People who I owe my life..like a boy with glasses and a girl with unruly brown hair.

The girl with unruly brown hair..she gave me something. What did she give me?

I put the light blue handkerchief back in one of my pockets, the pocket that has no holes.

What did that girl gave me..I don't know. My head hurts.

The girl though, I tend to relate her with the sea..and the sky..and the sun.

The girl..she gave me..she gave me hope.

Suddenly, the doors to my prison is making noise.

Didn't they gave us some old bread a few hours ago? What are they clamoring about now?

"Draco Malfoy?" A voice asks, peering from the peep hole of my doors.

I did not answer. I don't think that I am inclined to do so.

"You are Mr. Malfoy, correct?" The voice questions again, more urgently.

This voice does not sound like one of the guards.

I glance at the direction of my door, not bothering to get up from my lying position. The voice belongs to a man with thick eyebrows and small eyes. He looks weak..and afraid. He is obviously not a guard.

"Yes? How may I help you?" I decided to answer, wanting this interaction to be over with so that I can concentrate on the fly which is still perched on my window.

"Oh, it appears your sanity is still lucid. I guess we don't have to put you in St. Mungo's Hospital after all." The unknown man comments with optimism. I think I made his job easier for him, although I would not know how.

"I'm sorry..I do not know who you are. I do not know how to acknowledge you." I tell him.

"Oh right, of course. Mr. Malfoy, my name is Mr. Groot. I am your assigned barrister for your case. Your former barrister retired three years ago, and therefore would not be handling you from now on."

"As much as your information is interesting, Mr..Groot. I would like to continue with looking at the fly on my window." I inform the man, not wanting to waste more time on his explanation.

"A fly?" He asks.

"Yes..there is a fly that has been sitting on my window for hours..for a while now actually; and it is still not moving. I would like to observe the fly for as long as I am able, I do not get a lot of entertainment around here so..the fly is a rather good distraction." I explain.

Mr. Groot tries to look at my window, trying perhaps to identify the fly.

"Do you see it?" I ask him.

"No..I'm afraid I cannot see the fly in my location." He cautiously answers.

"Well, it is there. And it is still not moving." I point out.

I hear wind coming from the outside, passing through my window. Much to my amusement, the fly is now moving. But instead of flying, the insects falls from the window and lands on my floor without using its wings. Quickly, I get up from my lying position in order to look at the fly.

The last time anything went inside through my window was another fly.

But this fly is different, this fly did not intentionally move inside. This fly was pushed by a strong wind.

Lying on the ground, the fly does not buzz or move. The fly is not moving.

The fly is dead. The fly is actually dead. It is and was dead the whole entire time.

Perhaps the fly decided to die on my window, and that was all it wanted to do.

The fly wanted to die. That was it. That was all.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you quite alright?" Says the man with thick eyebrows and small eyes.

I pick up the fly and walk towards the doors of my prison, I then carefully show the fly to the man who is standing at the other side of the peeping hole.

"Look, do you see it now? The fly fell from my window. The fly is dead after all." I narrate, pointing at the fly with my free hand.

"Oh..okay. Perhaps St. Mungo's will be your next destination. Would you give me a minute please?" Mr. Groot tells me.

I hear the shifting of papers.

"Oh dear..it appears that you are not entitled for any health privileges once you leave Azkaban. In fact, you are supposed to be immediately deported from the wizarding world as soon as you fulfil five years in this prison." The man on the other side states, sorting more of his documents.

"I see..ah yes, Mr. Malfoy..you are to be banished from the wizarding world, to live in the muggle realm for as long as you live." He says, his small eyes shifting as he reads his papers.

I blink once..and then twice.

Thinking this is more entertaining than the fly on my hand, I throw the insect behind me.

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 _Because the window's frosted over_  
 _And I still can't see_  
 _I fall into a dream_  
 _And I wish that I could be…_

 _\- Tom Felton_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?

Chapter 3 - Brick

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"Are you..are you hear for my case? Is my case..being reviewed?" I ask with uncertainty.

"Well, yes. It has been five years since you entered Azkaban. You are now under the process of leaving. I am here to orient you about your exit." Mr. Groot tells me.

"Five years?..It has been five years? I have been here for only five years?" I say with urgency, my voice going stronger as I learned the exact duration of my stay in this prison.

My questions were not answered. Instead, I hear the clicking of several locks and the clanging of metal.

The doors..the doors of my prison are opening.

And then I see fire, fire that exists just inches from my face. The fire hurts my eyes, so much so that I feel like my eyes are burning. For a second, I thought that they opened my doors in order to burn me like they burn my father's remains.

Terrified, not wanting to burn while I am still alive, I back away and cover my eyes.

"Now, now. It's alright. It's just a lamp." The stranger explains.

"Wh-why are you here?" I ask him, dragging myself to one corner as they go inside.

I suddenly feel this urge to preserve my privacy, I didn't want them to intrude.

Although hearing people and watching people in front of me is so intriguing, I do not want them to be inside my place. My place is too dark and..moldy. I sleep a few inches away from my toilet, a few inches from where I shit and piss.

I started to shiver uncontrollably. I feel immense shame.

My room has mold, mold everywhere.

I sleep a few inches away from my toilet, a few inches from where I shit and piss.

The cleansing did not happen for a while, I haven't had a bath for days..or weeks.

I don't know what I smell like. But based on the man's scrunched nose, I smell disgusting.

Ghastly..putrid. I probably smell worse than a thousand rotten eggs that have been rotting for months.

Rotten eggs.

Why am I using rotten eggs in a sentence?

Never mind. I feel ashamed.

I feel ashamed, because I stink and I live and breathe where I shit and piss.

I want to be like that fly which now lies on my grimy lice-infested floors.

I am so ashamed that I just want to crawl in a hole and die like that fly.

Stop. Stop. You're doing it again. Calm down.

Calm down..breathe. No one's hurting you. This person is not hurting you.

It's okay. You'll be fine. You'll survive this..and then..and then once you survive..

Once you survive..your shame will go away.

Everything will go away..

Everything can change. You'll survive this..and then you can have a different life.

"Mr. Malfoy, you have finished five years in Azkaban. Based on your agreement which was witnessed by Magistrate Lennard Hopps in June 24, 1998, you will now be banished to the muggle realm." Mr. Groot states while trying to keep a straight face, covering his nose from the stench of my filth.

Tapping my chains with his wand, my chains unravel from my ankles.

He simply tapped the chains with his wand.

It was easy..so effortless to be out of the shackles. It just needed a wave of a wand.

I raise my ankles slightly, shifting my feet. My feet feels light, lighter than my entire body.

"I..I can leave this place? I can leave Azkaban?" I ask weakly.

"Yes. Now if you don't mind, I have other things to attend to. Best that we leave as soon as possible." He says, trying to cover his disdain for merely standing in my space for a few seconds. He attempts to pull me from my spot, but I step away. He is looking more of an anomaly as he make his presence more real.

"Guards!" He shouts, clearly not wanting to stay any longer.

Bastard One and Bastard Two enters, their faces look more irritated than usual. Normally they would not even give me a glance, simply kicking me to get to where they want me to stay. This time, they look furious, immensely disappointed, dragging me out of my room.

I started screaming, panicking. Bastard One and Bastard Two persist to drag me despite my protest.

Eventually they pause, only to kick my gut. I cringe and drool from the pain.

Seeing as I stopped shouting, they resume to pulling me away until I left my space which I have lived for five years. As they drag me, I gaze at my prison which grows distant from each pull they make on my legs. My fear of the unknown dissipates for a moment, replaced by the feeling of sadness.

Despite the fact that I am leaving my cage which I hated for years, watching as I am separated from those familiar walls and that small window is causing unwanted nostalgia. For reasons I am not sure, my cage was a part of me. And now..now I am losing the cage. A part of my self.

"Finally leaving Azkaban eh, Malfoy?" Bastard One says as we move to another corridor.

"Don't expect your life to be any better than what you had here." Bastard Two adds; giving me another tug so that I would lit the wall nearby.

The wall has a stray brick. As soon as I hit the wall, my face scraped at the loose brick.

I can taste my blood which drips from my cheek, along with dirt and some traces of an insect's web. My face starts to hurt and swell. Mr. Groot is too busy to notice this conversation or assault, skimming his papers as he walks in front of us. Or maybe he is just pretending not to notice.

The last time I was going through these hallways was when I first got to this prison. I was so scared that I actually peed myself, but I kept walking because one of the prisoners was screaming so loud that I wanted to get away from the screaming as fast as possible.

As I was going to my cage, the pee continued to drip. The liquid was warm, and I welcomed it.

My pee was warm..it felt nice because everything about this place was cold.

My pee was warm though, I felt the warmth go down my legs and between my toes.

I relished the warmth, took comfort in it.

I took comfort on my pee.

Unlike last time, I don't feel like peeing. I don't have the liquids to piss on myself this time.

And even if I do, I am not as afraid as I was back then.

Like the cage that I was in, this entire place became so familiar to me.

The endless screaming..the endless darkness. The suffering, the pain of being completely along.

Everything about this prison is familiar.

And I know, I know that this prison will continue to be familiar to me.

I know that this prison will continue to haunt me until I die.

We carry on with this process of going through corridors until we reach a peculiar wall which reminds me of the walls I saw in a train station. The wall had light grey bricks instead of black or brown. The grey bricks look a lot cleaner and new compared to the bricks that surrounds us.

Mr. Groot taps the wall with his wand, and then the grey bricks of the walls shift.

The grey bricks are shifting, turning the wall into an entrance.

We enter the great wall without hesitation. Unlike my cell, I couldn't even give a last glance at the hallway. I did however, hear one last scream which sounded like someone is being kissed by a dementor. I thought that hearing the scream would frighten me, but instead I feel excited.

Despite the pain on my face, despite being dragged, I feel anticipation.

Hearing the grey wall shift to a close, my anticipation becomes stronger.

And then, out of nowhere, I started to grin. And then..and then I started to laugh.

I started to laugh uncontrollably. So much so that even though Bastard One and Two started kicking in order to shut me up, I still persisted to laugh. It was like I was cheating someone off, I was getting away from the place without kissing a dementor.

I was getting away from endless darkness and being burned once I die. I was cheating, clearly I was.

I was cheating someone off and it feels great.

I was..I am cheating death.

So I laughed and laughed until I was forced to stand.

As soon as they were able to get me up, Bastard One and Two started hitting my face repeatedly.

Seeing as we are already in a different location, Mr. Groot decides to interfere.

"That's enough! Someone might see you." The man with thick brows and small eyes warns.

"Azkaban may not have killed you, Malfoy. But you will kill yourself someday." Bastard One says, giving my face one last hit before leaving me to fall on my knees. Standing up for a long time is too much for my weak legs, let alone being beaten.

Satisfied in bringing me to my knees, the guards back off.

Just like the first time we met, Mr. Groot hesitantly regards me at his presence.

"This is the copy of your agreement from 1998, please go over it as soon as you..get acquainted to your surroundings. Should you break your agreement, please be reminded that you will be tried and hanged without chances of appeal." He offers me a scroll which I tried to take, but my fingers are trembling too much. He decides to put the scroll on the floor.

"I sure hope that I don't see you again, Mr. Malfoy. Because if I do, I can only watch you on the gallows." The man says without any form of empathy.

I decide not to reply to his advice, wanting him to leave as soon as possible.

"Don't waste this second chance, lad. Not everyone in your position would be given a second life." He pats me on the back, reminding me of my former barrister who also was just as indifferent as he is.

And then, followed by Bastard One and Bastard Two, Mr. Groot leaves me on my own.

Without looking at their direction, I hear the grey wall shift into an entrance. And then, they left.

They left.

They left.

They left.

I am now completely alone at a foreign location, with no one around.

No one is around.

No one.

I lie on the ground, the ground that feels like smooth enamel instead of cold grimy stone.

I let it all sink in, my isolation. I relish it.

So much so that when the ground started to tremble, and a large mass of metal passes by, I was not deterred. I let the large mass of metal pass eight times, before I decided to stand up and look around my area. The area is quite narrow, constricted with bricks and pipes. Far better than the dungeons.

Picking the scroll that Mr. Groot left me, I put the parchment on the pocket inside my coat. I didn't bother to look through the scroll, it's not like I don't know what the parchment states. Besides, I'm sure my vision is so affected by the lights above me, I could not read the agreement even if I want to.

I'll have to go through the scroll some other time.

I see a wooden bench a few feet away. Not bothering to stand up, I drag myself to the bench and did my best to sit down and keep my back straight. I then try to wipe the blood off my face with the sleeve of my coat, but my sleeve was too caked up with dirt that I only made the mess on my face worse.

And then, I remember that I have a handkerchief.

Weakly, I pull the light blue cloth out of my pocket. I was about to dab my face with the handkerchief, but I noticed how clean and pristine it is. The handkerchief is a light blue color, reminding me of the sky. I look up, unconsciously searching for the atmosphere, only to find pipes and vents.

It appears that I am underground, underneath a real surface.

Not wanting to ruin the cloth, I put it back on my pocket and decide to concentrate on my surroundings.

I realize that I am a platform, a platform for a set of rails. Beyond the rails is another platform.

There are no stairs or any other exits. Just opposite platforms and the rails.

The ground started to shake again, hinting that the large mass of metal will arrive soon.

Unsurprisingly, the large metal mass arrives, using the railings in front of me.

The metal mass is a train.

I am actually at a subway. At a platform of a subway.

Specifically, based on the painted numbers of a beam nearby, I am at Platform 6 and a half quarters.

Seeing as I cannot get off the platform through a flight of stairs to the surface, nor can I cross the other platform which also has no flight of stairs to the surface. I painstakingly make my way to the train as soon as it opened its doors.

Inside the train, I take the nearest seat. The seat feels nice, cozy due to the felt lining.

I sink into my seat, completely and utterly satisfied.

The train starts moving again, moving to leave the platform.

I glance outside, looking at the grey wall from which I originated from. I watched as I passed the wall, the train is moving at a fast pace. I watched the grey wall, the spot where Mr. Groot and the guards originated, thinking that they would come back any second to tell me that this was all a mistake.

I was thinking that they would come back and take me form here.

But no, they didn't come back. I watched the wall until I could not see it anymore, moving through the tunnel until we reach another empty platform..and another, and another. And then..realizing that they are never coming back for me, realizing that I will never be back in that damned prison, I started to make a wretched smile. The smile started to snicker.

And then, I started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

I am laughing again, at no one in particular.

I keep laughing, even though people other than myself went inside the train.

I laugh even if strangers were looking at me funny, choosing to move as soon as they realized that I am some mad man.

I am a mad man, laughing and laughing endlessly.

I cheated you see, I cheated.

I can't believe it.

I really cheated death.

I cheated.

I cheated.

And then I started to cry, to cry uncontrollably.

I cried, I cried and ignored people who are asking me if I have a problem.

I cried even though they wanted to know what was wrong.

I cried. I simply cried. I cried so much.

I cried even though I was running out of energy.

Eventually, I cried myself to sleep.

.

 _In Hawaii…_

 _And kicking back_

 _Is where you'd find me_

 _Somewhere underneath the palm tree_

 _On the island of Hawaii…_

 _\- Tom Felton_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?

Chapter Four – Window

.

I woke up to bright lights that hover above me, the lights hurt my eyes so much that I decided to close them and focus on something else. Other than the blinding lights, I stir due to the strong smell of chemicals that permeate all over the room. The chemicals smell like strong vodka or whiskey.

The next thing I notice is the feeling of being clean. Completely clean and sanitized. I do not feel dirt or mold which usually scrape areas of my skin, my hair feels light instead of heavy with collected oils and gunk. I can actually smell myself, and I smell like the chemicals in the room, except milder.

Knowing that I am so clean to the point that I can actually smell anything at all, makes me feel strangely at ease. I don't care that I do not know where I am, I don't care if someone can intrude anytime soon. I feel too clean to care about safety. Somehow, I decided to see cleanliness as a sign of safety.

Being this clean makes me forget that I came from a filthy dungeon.

Being this clean makes me aware that I am no longer a prison.

I lived in a prison for five years. I live in a prison..I lived in Azkaban.

Someone enters the room.

"Hello there." The person greets, holding a tray of what appears to be food.

I try to utter a word. But nothing comes out from my throat which feels like sandpaper.

The person pours me a glass of water and hands it to me. Having satisfied my thirst, I concentrate on forming a question. "Where am I?" I ask, noticing that my voice still sound ragged.

"You are at the New York-Presbyterian Hospital." The person answers.

"No, what I mean is..what is the location of..this hospital? And..and what day is it?" I ask.

"You are at New York City, dear. Today is June 25." The person says in a slow and kind manner.

"And the year?" I request meekly, knowing that my questions would be strange.

"The year is 2003..are you alright?" The person asks, most likely concerned with my odd queries.

The person appears to be a lady, seeing as she is wearing a white skirt and blouse. However, her face was anything but feminine. Oddly, her face reminds me of someone I knew when I was younger. Her face reminds me of…Crabbe. Yes..that's right, I used to have a friend named Crabbe..Crabbe is dead.

Crabbe is dead..this person reminds me of Crabbe. But Crabbe is dead now.

"Crabbe died because of the war."

"What? What did you say?" The lady asks, confused at what I said.

"Crabbe, a boy who died in the war. The war was five years ago." I explain.

"A war? What war would that be?"

"The war with..the war happened five years ago…" I simply repeated, thinking that explaining about this war would not do me any good. After all, this lady who looks like Crabbe, would not know about the war since she wasn't there. The war happened in a different realm, the magical realm. She is not from there.

No..this lady..this entire place, is not of that realm.

I was from that magical realm, but then I am here..in this realm..this realm where muggles live.

Ah yes..I was banished from the magical realm. The magistrate..the magistrate exiled me into..the muggle realm. This is the muggle realm, I am in the muggle realm. I am in a muggle place, a muggle room in a muggle building. And this lady is a muggle, and this bed is muggle, and this food is muggle.

I laugh.

I am exiled in the muggle realm. I am exiled from where I was born.

I laugh some more.

"Is something wrong?" The lady asks, placing her tray in front of me. The tray is filled with food.

The tray has a cup of hot chocolate, and a plate of sausages and potatoes.

The food smells great, my mouth salivates almost instantly.

"Enjoy your food dear, I hope you get better." The lady says with a look of pity, before she leaves me alone with the tray of food in front of me.

I sip the hot chocolate, it tastes divine. I sip some more, and more until the hot chocolate is gone. I relish the warmth that radiates on my stomach, having satisfied a hunger I have ignored for hours..or even days. I tried eating the sausages, but I already lost my appetite. My stomach is already full of chocolate.

Weakly, I bring the tray to rest on a table attached on the wall beside me.

I can eat later.

Since no one was around, I feel like I can look around the room freely. I look at the ceiling that I first saw when I opened my eyes, I feel the blankets that are rough and stiff but warm. Slowly, I become aware that the bed that I am lying in is too soft and lumpy. The floor looks more comfortable and flat.

I look at the window nearby, the window shows buildings that are shorter that where I am in, and then there are buildings that are taller than where I am in. I see a flying object pass by, the flying object appears to be a metal bird. Apart from buildings, I see a sky. The sky is clear and..blue in color.

The sky is blue..blue like the ocean.

Suddenly I feel the urge to look through my good pocket, the pocket with no holes in it. But when I feel through my chest for the pocket. The pocket is not there. Unexpectedly, feeling clean is not enough to calm me down. I need to find my pocket, my pocket carried a cloth which is very important to me.

I look around the room to find a table located on a corner, the table is holding clear container which appears to be holding my old clothes. Quickly, I pull the blanket away from me and step out of the bed, I walk to the table and take my belongings. I open the container and take my old shirt, the shirt smells.

I try not to breathe in the smell of the shirt as I rummage my pocket. Like a child, I smile when I find what I am looking for. Pulling the cloth which I was desperate to find, I see that it is in the same condition as I left it. The blue handkerchief stands out from my grimy things. A bit sullied, but good.

The initials are still there, gleaming like gold and bold yet subtle. I let my fingers feel through the embroidery, tracing the letters carefully. The initials are: Hermione, G. They are the initials of someone I used to know, initials of a person who was kind..when I did not deserve her kindness or..compassion.

Compassion..like the blue sky..like that lady who brought me a tray of food earlier, like that bed and this room and the feeling of being clean. I feel so comfortable, and clean, and more alive than I have been in years. I bring the cloth to my chest and feel my heart swell with what I can only describe as happiness.

Tears started to fall from my face, and I dare to use the handkerchief to wipe off my emotional sobbing. I go down on my knees to touch the floor, not interested in keeping myself as sanitized as I can be. I don't care if the cloth is ruining my cleanly shaved face. I don't care if my knees touch the ground.

These tiled floors that smell like chemicals..this handkerchief that smells like my past, I feel both of them strongly. And then, slowly but surely, I start feeling sensations that I have kept in a box for so long. I hear people bustling around from the outside, I hear machines in the room that hum with consistency.

Reality is starting to settle in, facts are starting to come back to me.

Bringing the cloth in front of me, I notice that my arm is scarred with the dark lord's mark. The skull taunts me like a nightmare. Only now did I remember, I forgot all about this mark..this curse. All this time, the mark was waiting patiently to haunt me as soon as I regain my balance, regain my sanity.

Yes, that's right. That is what I was.

I was a death eater, I followed a man..I followed a monster. I am now banished to live the rest of my life in the muggle realm, for sins I have committed five years ago. I was banished because I was a death eater. I murdered and tortured innocent people, people who I will now live with for as long as I live.

I killed people, people like that lady who gave me a tray of food, people with initials embroidered in their handkerchiefs. People who were kind and compassionate, bright as the sun and clear as the sky.

I killed people like her, I killed people like Hermione Granger.

Guilt started to plague me, drowning thought of being free.

I am condemned to live amongst people I killed. I am condemned to relive my past, over and over again.

I can't. I can't do it. I don't want to live that kind of life, I don't want to leave this room and see people..muggles who I used to kill without hesitation. If go out there, if I see this realm..I swear, I swear I will go mad and lose the little ounce of humanity I have left. I might hurt someone, I might kill again.

Strangely, my arm where the skull is in, started to itch and burn. The skull tattooed on my skill, feels hot and intolerable. My brain is playing tricks..the darklord..the darklord does not live anymore. What I am feeling on my arm, is just a figment of my imagination..I just want to..I just want to kill in order to forget.

NO. I won't. I won't let that happen. I'd rather die than kill anyone else.

Frantically, I search around the room to find something to keep my arm from burning. And then, and then I see the window. The window with large buildings outside..the window..the window can be opened from where I am. I can open it, I can open the window and end this once and for all.

I go to the window, and open it. I feel the breeze on my face and I hear the streets from below. Without a care in the world, I let my bare feet step unto the edge of the window. I sit down slowly, resting on the window sill, gazing ahead like I just made the most ingenious decision that I can ever have in my life.

I can just kill myself, right here, right now. And my arm won't itch, and I won't have the urge for blood. I will just leave this world at a safer predicament, no one has to get hurt. All I have to do is just fall from where I am, fall and leave everything behind. I won't have nightmares, I won't remember the past.

I won't remember her.

.

" _Yeah yeah yeah…"_

 _\- Tom Felton_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?

Chapter Five – New York

.

I thought that life outside Azkaban would be different, that I can change my fate.

But what good is change, when I cannot erase my past?

My past will always haunt me, keeping me from any chance of salvation.

I rub the mark on my arm, replacing my disgust with acceptance.

I don't see the point of living.

My past will never leave me.

Even if I am living in a different realm from now on, everything that defines me cannot be ignored.

I am..I was a wizard. I was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, raised to believe that purebloods are more superior to any being on this earth. I was called..no..I was forced to accept responsibilities that lead to numerous deaths, and I accepted with complete and deliberate ignorance from my part.

I chose this. I chose to be who I am.

I chose to follow my father's expectations, I chose to follow the dark lord's orders.

I chose to kill.

I chose this life.

And now, I can choose to end it.

Just as I am about to close my eyes and let the ledge take me, I notice the handkerchief which I unconsciously carry on my pocket. The cloth looks so out of place with the white garments that I wear, shifting from the wind which plays with it. Her initials shine as soon as the rays of the sun passes by.

At the back of my mind, I hear a voice. I hear her voice, and the words that she told me the last time that I saw her. I feel her delicate fingers brush through the back of my neck, cleaning my skin as if there is still remnants of that rotten egg. I concentrate on her touch, her gentle patting with her handkerchief.

And then, I remember her eyes. How her eyes looked at me without judgement or anger.

How her eyes look like forgiveness and kindness.

I remember her words..her words that sounds too good to be true.

I let her clean my shame..my sins. I let her soothe my turmoil, my self-hatred..my regrets.

And then, a strong gust of wind made me realize where I am.

The wind is cold, cutting my face like a blade of sharp ice.

I open my eyes, and feel this immense fear. Fear for my life.

I feel fear that I am going to disappoint her.

As I pondered on whether I should live or die. I feel rough hands pull me away from the edge. I violently land on the clean tile floors, and come face to face with a balding old man who was talking to me with a language that I am not familiar with. He is furious, showing his anger with how much he hits my arm.

Instead of jumping down from the window, I move to go back to the safety of the room. With trembling hands and feet, I move away from the window and take a seat on the floor. I feel a cold sweat collect on the sides of my face, the trembling becomes worst, I collapse to the ground and allow myself to vomit.

I vomit the contents of my stomach, which was not much. The strange old man continues to rant from behind, perhaps irritated at my pathetic show of retching. My bile consists of chocolate and saliva. I tried to vomit some more, but that was all that I had. And then I start to shiver, shiver uncontrollably.

Seeing as I managed to discard all the remains of my stomach, the old man pulls the collar of my flimsy top, not caring that my exposed skin is being injured by the abrupt friction of being dragged on tiles and eventually the metal frames of the bed. Without warning, he punches my face, hurting my left cheek.

All throughout his way of mishandling me, he ranted in a strange condescending language. Most likely, he was cursing me for being such a fool. Any person would have thought that I was considering suicide when I sat on the ledge, he must be giving a very colorful sermon which I cannot really understand.

Despite the language barrier, I oddly find his language to be vaguely familiar.

For reasons I care not to identify, I am certain that I have heard the language before.

"I'm sorry. I cannot understand what you are saying." I tell him weakly, losing a lot of energy.

He sighs, choosing not to continue with his scolding. Having realized that I do not speak his language.

He mutters some more, before pulling the wooden chair next to my bed and taking a seat in front of me.

"What were you thinking, syn? Have you lost your mind? Ty durak!" He tells me, hitting my head with the back of his hand. Despite his heavy accent, I understand his English.

"I was just..taking some fresh air." I say with a wheeze, lying to myself.

"Nobody would sit on the ledge of a building just to get some fresh air." He says.

A man wearing a fancy looking tuxedo enters the room. He breathes heavily, from running perhaps.

"Is everything alright, Pakhan?" The man questions, looking at me with suspicion. He appears to be slightly concerned for the old man's safety.

"We're good, Lev. Leave us be for now." The old man replies with a commanding tone. The man in a tux simply bows respectfully in acceptance, before leaving the room.

"What kept you from killing yourself, syn? What stopped you from falling to your death?" The old man asks me, crossing his arms and making an effort to keep his anger down.

"I was not trying to kill myself, I was just..I was just trying to..I was just.." I stop explaining and sighed. "Alright, yes. I was thinking of committing suicide. But..not anymore." I admit.

"Well then what kept you from falling on that ledge, syn? What kept you from killing yourself?" He mutters without looking at me, perhaps embarrassed for my foolishness or uncomfortable for asking.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

Coughing in irritation and gazing at me with more arrogance than moments earlier, he asks again.

"What changed your mind? What made you decide to live?" He says, and then his face expresses realization. "A person…a person perhaps. A person made you decide to live, syn?" The old man inquires.

Her.

It was her.

Her dark brown eyes.

Her heart-shaped face.

Her strong yet feminine voice.

Her last words to me.

Her.

I want to see her..I want to face her..and the feeling of wanting to see her is terrifying.

I am terrified, not because I was about to plunge to my death, but because I don't want her to know that I choose to kill myself instead of living a life of constant nightmares, guilt, and humiliation. I don't want her to remember me that way..I don't want to disappoint her because..because I want to see her again.

I feel fear of never truly facing her, or anyone else, with pride of being who I really am.

Because..because I could be so much better than this. No matter how bleak my life has become, I still have the choice to move on from my mistakes and be someone who failed..yet learned from failure.

I can show them that I am human, I can show them that I can better myself.

I can be better..I can take pride in myself.

She can be proud of me.

But is it possible?

Is it possible for me to accept what I was, and look forward to what I could be?

Can I actually live a life that I would be proud of?

"Well, whoever this person is, he or she will be very pleased to find you have an ounce of intelligence. Perhaps this person of yours, is the one who gave this letter." He states, tossing a letter at my lap.

Absentmindedly, I take the letter and opened it to be overwhelmed by a strong familiar scent.

"Mother." I whisper, feeling my heart slowly beat faster and then gradually but painfully slower. I bite my trembling lip, my throat hurts from words I wish to say. Words of disbelief and gratitude. I try to keep my eyes from watering as I try to read the first words that I have heard from her in years.

As I read the words, I hear the soft graceful voice of my mother. The letter magically resounds her voice throughout the four corners of the room, making it even more difficult for me to control my erratic emotions. With enough resolve, and trembling hands, I focus on reading what she wants me to know.

.

 _Dearest Draco,_

 _How are you my son? I missed you so. I am doing fine, despite currently staying in the manor for most of the time which you spent in that horrible place. My disposition is nothing compared to what you have experienced, I'm sure. I hope to Merlin that you managed to regain a part of yourself, despite Azkaban._

 _My love, it is my deepest regret that I failed to keep you away from this fate. Someday, I beg you to forgive me and your father for instilling pain and hatred unto your life. I can only pray you will do better than what we have done to ourselves. We can never change the past. But my dear, you have a future._

 _I have hired a capable and trustworthy Barrister to appeal for your case. She assured me that denying the recognition of Mr. Potter five years ago, at the presence of your now deceased Aunt Bellatrix, can be used as a way to reduce your sentence to at least twenty years or more. Mr. Potter is willing to witness._

 _I am overjoyed to know that there is a chance for you to come home. But I do not want you to solely depend on this possibility, I want you to live in the muggle realm. I know you might think that living in the muggle realm is unrealistic..perhaps unbearable. But I want you to thrive, wherever you may reside._

 _I want you to survive, I want you to live the life you wanted before we pushed you to a life of fear and death. I want you to live a completely different world, away from persecution and hatred. I want you safe. And if staying in the muggle realm will be the safest place you can be in, I want you there._

 _I wish I can write more, but the Ministry limited my magic to basic needs in exchange for weekend walks at neutral pureblood places and areas. Don't worry about me dear, they might have taken my wand, but intelligence was always my asset. I am doing fine, please take care of yourself. I love you, always._

 _Your Uncle Vladimir will take care of you in the muggle realm. I trust him as your guardian and your advisor. Follow what he says, and give him the same respect which your parents did not deserve._

 _Your mother,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy_

 _._

As soon as I finished reading the letter, the parchment started to burn at the edges with green flames. Desperately, I try to stop the small fire by patting it down or tapping the letter at the nearby desk. But the green flames continue to consume the letter at a fast pace, until there are no more remains.

"Obviously your mother does not want anyone to know she contacted you. Best that the letter was destroyed." The old man unnecessarily explains. Perhaps feeling sorry for my brief show of sentiment.

"H-how would you know about her preferences? You know nothing about her." I childishly comment, too estranged and frustrated with my helpless situation of painfully missing my mother.

"I may have not known your mother directly, but I am a father. And like her, I would never want you to end your life so easily if you were my son. I would have wanted you to live." He comments.

"Even if I killed innocent people..even if you raised a monster?" I tell him. Stating a question which he is not directly involved in. The question is for him or for my parents..I don't know why I even ask.

He surprises me by taking a knee and lowering his worn out face to my level.

"Even monsters deserve to live. They deserve to live, in order to respect the lives that they have taken. They deserve to be in anguish, and then they deserve a chance of redemption." He tells me seriously.

I was not expecting an answer.

The answer was simple, yet perfect. Tears started to fall from my eyes uncontrollably.

I was about to kill myself..I was about to take my own life.

I do not want to explain my actions, which I already regret.

I was trying to make it easier for me. It would be easier to just die than deal with the aftermath.

I'm such a fool, such a coward. I can't do that.

I can't just kill myself. Killing myself won't redeem me from my sins.

Killing myself won't justify their deaths.

Committing suicide won't cleanse my soul, or kill my demons.

Nothing will be accomplished if I die, nothing.

But what will?

Unless..unless I choose to live..and perhaps I can then find an answer.

I will live. I will live a different life, to begin again.

I will live, and I will find the answer.

"Syn, are you alright? You are pale as a ghost." The old man points out.

Thinking and experiencing a lot of emotions is starting to take a toll on me, I have no energy to comment. Instead I weakly prop my legs on the bed, and then let my head rest on the pillow. I feel tired, so tired, I can barely keep myself conscious. I made my decision. Now I need rest, I need sleep.

The young man in a tuxedo arrives again, and this time the old man beckons him to enter and have a conversation. I cannot understand their conversation, they are speaking a language which I am not inclined. I should be more suspicious about their intentions..but my bed is beckoning me to recover.

I rest my head on the pillow and close my eyes.

I will live..I will live a different life.

As soon as I get enough sleep, I will learn to live my life here, in the muggle realm. If I recover enough, if I have a chance, I will then leave to go somewhere far away, a place where I can be different. Perhaps I will be lying beside the sea on a sunny afternoon, watching the wind shift fronds of coconut trees.

I would be in a place where I can hear the ocean calling, feel the sun warm up my skin.

A place where the breeze feels nice and cool as it combs my hair.

A place where the sky is blue..clear and endless like the ocean.

A place where I can begin again.

.

 _Cool breeze on my face  
It makes me stop and think -  
The only brolly that's in sight  
Is the mini one that's in my drink  
JD, coke and lime -  
This is how I want to spend my time  
Not wasting hours  
Being stuck on the M25_

 _\- Tom Felton  
_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?

Chapter Six – Aftermath

.

" _Do you fear death, child?" Voldemort asked Theodore Nott who is kneeling beside me._

" _N-no, my lord." He says with a tremble._

" _We shall see..let us test your resolve. Did your father tell you the pain which occurs once you pledge your loyalty to me?" The monster asks Theo with a predatory grin._

" _Father told me that, as soon as I receive the mark, fearing death under your command will make me feel immeasurable pain." Nott answers innocently._

 _As soon as Nott answered, the dark lord takes his arm and cast his spell that will forever haunt his followers. Theo screamed in pain, feeling his arm burn along with the rest of his body. His vaguely covered anxiety is now showing in public by the way his body wretched from being branded._

" _What your father told you is true. As soon as you take the mark, disloyalty will be endless torture." Voldemort confirms, watching coldly as my fellow Slytherin now openly writhe on the floor. "Since your body is in so much pain, you obviously have more fear than the recruits before you." The lord concludes._

" _I am s-sorry my lord, forgive me. Please spare my life." Theodore begs as he tries to control his eyes from watering. But the pain was too much, and eventually tears started to fall from his feverish face._

" _A boy who cries in front of me does not deserve pity. Don't you agree? Draco?" He asks me with his disdainful eyes, waiting for me to answer politely._

 _._

A commanding voice calls out to me, urging me to answer.

I try to identify where the voice is coming from, but I see nothing.

"Syn.."

"Syn.."

"Wake up, Syn.."

"Wake up.."

I sense myself breathing heavily, a gust of cold wind tickles my left ear. The window is closer, and I do not smell the strong scent of chemicals. Slowly I open my eyes, to find light coming from a brick fireplace attached to polished grey walls. The bricks look warm and elegant, unlike the bricks in Azkaban.

The room smells old, like the smell of weathered soil after the rain.

I am not in the same white room where I first regained consciousness.

When I shift to my right side however, I am startled by the same old man who was conversing with me a while ago. Only this time, instead of wearing casual clothing, the old man wears a customized suit which exudes quality. The old man glares at me with critical eyes and an arrogant raising of his bearded chin.

But his judgmental stance was instantly transformed as soon as he offers a smile. Or at least what I thought his expression would be. His smile was not at all comforting, the expression reminds me of the dark lord's nefarious grin. It is a smile that expresses satisfaction over the success of a meticulous plan.

"You slept for three days at the hospital. We thought you were in a coma or dead. But on the fourth day, you woke up started thrashing about like a mad man. Apparently you were having hallucinations. You told the hospital staff that you are a death eater." The old man informs, observing my reaction.

Consciously, I grab my marked arm. The death eater mark started to sting.

"W-what..what kind of hallucinations?" I ask.

"You tell me. The nurses said that you were screaming about killing everyone in the building. Apparently you wanted to kill them before the other death eaters arrive. What are these death eaters?"

I didn't bother to reply, I am too disturbed that I would do such a thing at a public place. From the corner of my eye, I see the snake on my arm writhe. I close my eyes tightly and look at the mark again, the mark does not glow or burn. The snake does not move, the skull's mouth is silent.

"Seeing as you were making such an embarrassing display in the hospital, I had no choice but to bring you home for the rest of your recovery. The doctors told me that feeding you through tubes for a long time can ruin your health, so you had to wake up sooner or later. So syn, do still have hallucinations?"

No. I am sure that I am not experiencing a hallucination right now. But it is possible that I am experiencing bouts of insanity..short episodes of hallucinations that will haunt me in random times. Perhaps these hallucinations will last a year or two, maybe even decades. Perhaps they will worsen.

"Do you still want to kill yourself?" He continues to question, smoothing out his beard.

No. I do not wish to kill myself, but I might have such thoughts again if these hallucinations will be a habit. If they get worse..if they evolve into something I cannot control..I mean, I don't even remember making a public display in the hospital. I don't remember shouting or threatening the lives of strangers.

Does that mean..does that mean I am having hallucinations even though I am unconscious?

No..no..no. I need to get this out of my system. These..nightmares will be a plague.

"Oi, Mal'chik. I am talking to you. The most respectful thing to do is to answer."

His authoritative voice causes me to shiver uncontrollably. He notices.

I need to get used to the idea that the dark lord is dead. No one, nothing is calling me.

This mark on my arm is just a ugly scar, the dark lord is not calling for me.

No one can tell me to do anything anymore.

Voldemort is dead. Voldemort is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

"None of my men dare to ignore my inquiry…Tell me child, do you fear death?" The old man states.

The old man's question is so similar to the question that the dark lord asked Theo back in the war. Automatically I raise my upper torso, despite feeling aches and bruises, and then I crouch low enough to be regarded as a decent bow to authority. I keep my eyes away from the man sitting by my right side.

"Y-yes, my lord." I reply without thinking, conditioned to respond when asked to do so by the bane of my existence. I couldn't help myself, just like the dark lord, the old man exudes authority. And like any foolish death eater, I want to confirm and make sure I am spared. I bite my lip until I draw blood.

I am well aware that this old man is not the dark lord. And yet I agree with his inquiry without pride and complete abandon. I could not believe I said those words so easily without contempt or hesitation.

"My lord? Where did you come from? The middle ages?" The old man asks, ending with an insulting laugh and a hard pat on my back. "I heard that the magical world was a strange realm, but I did not think that people of that realm would be so old fashioned." He says so casually, I almost forgot a crucial detail.

"You..you know the magical realm? You know where I came from?" I ask, now looking at him in the eye.

"Of course I do, you idiot. Why would I take you if I did not know you? Stupid." The old man impatiently answers, planning to take me by the arm with his large hands. But before he could grab a hold of me, I recoil my arm and move away. I look at him warily, more attentive with his presence than before.

"Then you know about the war?..about..about the dark lord?" I question.

"I do not know about this dark lord..all I know about is Voldemort, and his group of death eaters. You stated that you are a death eater. Dark lord is what you call this Voldemort? Your leader? " He replies.

A heavy feeling surrounds my chest, slowing my heart for a few seconds.

"You know about V-voldemort." I state, forcing myself to say the name which I was conditioned not to mention. "Then..then you know what a death eater is?" I cautiously ask, looking at him critically.

"Yes." He admits.

"Then why were you asking me to define what death eaters are?"

"Ah, so you were listening." He says with a grin, glancing at my branded arm and gave me a nod. "As soon as I saw that mark, I've had my suspicions. Your mother did not explain further details, but she gave enough information for me to realize why you were sent to Azkaban in the first place."

"So..you know what I have done? The things that I did to..to muggles?" I ask.

"Well, yes of course. Again syn, would I be in this room if I do not know who you are and where you came from?" He answers, looking at me like I am an uneducated dunce for not considering the reason why he is present in the first place. Now that I think about it, his presence is a rather odd circumstance.

"How did you get my mother's letter? Who gave it to you?" I question openly, in his presence.

"Enough with the questions Drako. Come, let us get dinner." He states, attempting to take my arm with his hand again. But having heard him say my first name, I avoid his hold with a shove.

"I am not going anywhere until you answer me." I tell him, gathering remains of my obstinate nature.

"The rest of the family is waiting for us. As the head of the family, I should be present. And you, should be introducing yourself. You should take time to know them. Ne bud'te gruby, mal'chik." He states.

"I said I am not going anywhere!" I shout, surprised I have the energy to do so.

"I have offered you a place to live and food to fill your stomach. And yet you doubt my kindness. Ya ne bol'noy chelovek! Didn't your parents teach you well enough to act proper?!" The man scolds. He then further retaliates from my rude suspicions and protests, by forming a fist that is aimed at me.

Instantly I try to protect myself with my arms and hands which covers my cringing face.

As soon as he sees my defensive composure, he lowers his raised fist and sighs loudly. "I don't know everything about you, boy. But I can already tell that you were raised a coward." He comments. Perhaps he expected me to further retaliate, or at least put up a good fight to match his demanding persona.

He looks at me with impatience, but chooses to adjust in his seat and bring his outstretched arm to rest on his knee. He sighs and regards me with an air of hesitant control, choosing to abide with my inquiry. Obviously he is not used to controlling his temper for the likes of someone like myself, but he obliges.

"How do you know my name?" I ask. I then paused, and revise my question: "Who are you?"

"You were just a child, you wouldn't remember who I am. But I remember who you are, Drako Malfoi." He says. "My name is Vladimir, son of Alexander and Anastasia Malfoi. Grandson of Faustus and Valentina Malfoi. Father of Valentina and Konstatin Malfoi." He tells proudly, with artic grey eyes.

As soon as I noticed his eyes, I pause my thoughts to take a good look at the man before me.

His skin is worn out, decorated with wrinkles, scars, and what appears to be hidden tattoos under a fancy dress shirt and loosened silver cufflinks. His arms or legs do not have pronounced muscles, but one could tell that his extremities are maintained from decades of hard labor, fighting, or being beaten.

Unlike myself and the rest of my family, he has a strong and stocky build. He also does not have platinum blonde hair which all Malfoys from my father's side share with pride and arrogance. And unlike most Malfoys who have elven-like appearances, his face is square and blunt, not at all long and pointy.

Despite physical appearance, the color of his eyes suggest that I may be associated with him somehow.

His cold grey pupils, which expresses anger and disappointment, reminds me of my father.

"Yes, syn. You and I, we are related. A true Malfoi will always have the eyes of Morozko." He confirms before I could even openly conclude my assumption.

"Morozko?" I ask.

"In the old country, a Morozko is a powerful being of the frost. Known as a being with silver eyes and cold dead heart. It is a mythical entity that is dangerous and powerful yet very intelligent."

"The old country? What country?" I ask, wanting to know his country of origin from his obvious hint.

"Russia of course, all Malfois are from Russia." He simply states.

"My family was not from Russia." I reply.

"But you have heard of my country, yes?" He asserts.

"Of course, I spent a few winters in Moscow when I was five or six years old." I answer.

"And why is that? Hm?" He hints.

"I..I don't know. It was a long time ago."

"Why did you and your family go to Moscow, knowing that you would be venturing to the Muggle realm? Your parents must have a good reason to do so, correct?"

"We have spent holidays in other muggle countries before, I thought nothing of it." I tell him.

"And yet, of all the holiday destinations in the muggle realm, your parents chose to spend your holiday at such a cold and dire place. Don't take me wrong, Russia is beautiful. But the land is as cold and unforgiving as any area that is constantly plagued with winter. Brutal, especially during the holidays."

Feeling a growing headache, I decide not to comment further.

"You and your family went to Moscow in order to pay my family a visit." He finally explains. "Your father and mother were not thrilled with the idea, but your grandfather insisted that they spend winters at the manor of my family. Your grandfather Abraxas, wanted to keep his ties with my grandfather Faustus."

The old man stands and walks slowly towards a small table which carries a variety of what appears to be chilled wine and spirits. He chooses a small decanter and pours himself a small glass which he then takes with him as he returns to my area. He sips on his drink lightly, savoring the dark liquid with a sigh.

"I don't remember such a gathering, and I have never heard of Malfoys residing in the muggle realm. You have to understand, members of my family would never consider living in the muggle world unless..unless they were.." I lose the initiative to continue my explanation, realizing a crucial fact.

No Malfoy would consider living in the Muggle realm, unless they were exiled by the family.

"My grandfather, Faustus Malfoy, decided to marry a muggle when he was younger. Of course his father, our great grandfather, did not approve of such a union. So my grandfather was exiled, and traces of his existence was most likely erased or removed by your great-grandparents as soon as he left."

"Oh..I am sorry. Pureblooded families tend to be..unreasonable." I tell him, a poor form of condolence.

"There is nothing to be sorry about. He may have been exiled, but grandfather lived a happy life. My grandmother, Valentina, was a beautiful and strong woman who loved him dearly. They were made for each other. And to my knowledge, rarely do pureblooded Malfoys marry for love." He tells me.

This old man knows more about my family than I give him credit for. Apart from his logical explanation of our relations with each other, there is no denying the fact that the color of his eyes is a distinct Malfoy trait. Not wanting to delve further on pureblood practices, I decided to change the topic.

"So you are..Uncle Vladimir? The uncle that my mother mentions in her letter?" I ask humbly.

"Yes. Your father Lucius, the arrogant prick, is my first cousin. I am your first cousin once removed, but that is too complicated. Just consider me as your Uncle. But do not call me that in front of strangers." He explains. "If we are among my men, those which I employ, you will always call me Pakhan." He states.

"Why?" I ignorantly ask.

"Pakhan means boss. Although you are related to me by blood, you will be working for me. You are not going to reside in my house and eat my food for free, you will earn it. By the time I am finished with you, you will know how to make a proper fist and be more resilient to pain or fear. I will raise you well."

"Are you..are you actually following what my mother wrote to me?" I question in disbelief.

"Although my family have been brought up differently compared to yours, we Malfois still hold the same respectable values. We believe in loyalty within the family, we take care of our own, regardless of sin." He informs religiously. "Our blood will always come first, beyond our past, and the wars of our fathers."

His cryptic offer for sanctuary astounds me.

Hearing his statement made me look at him. Really look at him.

Beyond his stubborn character and his relations with me, this old man is cunning just as he is wise. He knew who I was, before he decided to take me into his home. He knew what I went through, far more than what was written in my mother's letter. He knows the war, about Azkaban, about Voldemort.

He knew. He knew all along. He knows me.

And yet he accepts me for who I am. He accepts what I went through.

He may appear dominating and authoritative, but this man shows morals and empathy.

Can I really ruin the life what appears to be a decent man?

I look at a painting at the wall behind him.

The painting depicts the man with his family. His family is beautiful.

I cannot ruin him.

He does not deserve my aftermath.

.

 _The car in front's not moving  
And I still can't see  
I fall into a dream  
And I wish that I could be…_

 _\- Tom Felton_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?

Chapter Seven – Life Debt

.

"You don't want me here. I tortured people, I killed people without a second thought. I can kill the people you love, your family, I can kill you in your sleep. You can't..you can't trust me." I insist. This man may have done his research, the fact that I killed people was hidden from the public since I was a minor.

"I don't trust you, boy. But I trust my methods." The old man insists. "You were a coward back then, and you are still a coward now. I will beat that fear out of you, if I have to." He says confidently.

"No..no you don't understand. I can still feel it..I can still.." I scratch my branded arm, unconsciously touching the mark of a death eater which burns as soon as I remember what I was and what I have done. "The dark lord's command..I still have this urge..to harm anyone..I know that he is dead but.."

I cringe, feeling the invisible pain from my marked arm, for a moment I thought I saw the snake move out of the skull. But when I blinked a few times, I realized that the snake was not moving at all. The mark is simply a scar now, and yet I still have the urge..and I want to satisfy it..I do not think anything will.

"I'm not what I used to be..I know it. I spent years of isolation, conditioned to be lost in my thoughts and my regrets..I don't think I can handle anything more than my own past. Anything else will be a mere reflection. My past will always haunt me, and I am afraid that I will confuse the present with my past."

"Are you saying that you might not know what the past is and what is real? You think that you will confuse past with reality? Hurt someone when you lost parts of your sanity?" He analyzes.

I rub my tired eyes, and gaze at the death eater's mark on my arm.

"I have nothing against you, sir. I just cannot trust myself, because I lost the capacity to trust a long time ago. I confused loyalty with trust. And loyalty with fear. I don't know the difference between trust and loyalty. Because I have a fear for both. If I can't even trust myself, I cannot trust myself with others."

Seeing as he does not reply. I decide to reject his offer for sanctuary.

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't want to cause any more damage than I have already done. I plan to deal with my issues alone." I tell him properly.

"Enough." He says, finishing his drink and bringing his glass down with a loud tap.

"Pardon?" I ask, confused with his statement.

"I said enough. This conversation is not getting us anywhere. I am done convincing you the easy way. Obviously you lost too much of yourself in fear. You're afraid Drako, which is the reason why you do not know the meaning of trust or loyalty." He takes a small knife that was hiding from his leather boot.

He then takes the knife in order draw blood from his palm.

"W-what are you doing?" I ask, alarmed at his actions.

"You were treated like an animal by your former master, conditioned to eventually die with or without his presence. You think that you conformed his ideals." He says, taking my marked arm without my consent. Curious with his actions, I let him take my arm and watch him draws blood from my own hand.

"You doubt yourself, your capacity." He grabs my bleeding hand with his own injured palm, making sure that our wounds are in parallel with each other, that he squeezes hard. His action exudes a painful sting. "You lost your own identity and you need something or someone to trust another human being."

He then gazes at me with determination and a hint of guilt. "This might not be the one you are looking for. But this will be a start, syn." He states, before uttering Latin towards no one in particular.

"Per sanguinem heredes, debitum vitae honoratur." He states.

And then something phenomenal happens.

Ancient rune symbols started glow from the man's arm, surrounding his bleeding hand then transferring to my own. The runes interact with the shared blood, making a unique array of symbols that settle on both of our wrists. When the glowing subsides, three symbols remain: Mannaz, Odal, and Dagaz.

The old man successfully conducted and completed and ancient cast.

What was the spell? What was the Latin that he used?

 _Per sanguinem heredes, debitum vitae honoratur._

 _Through the blood of heirs, the debt of life is honored._

If I recall my runes back in Hogwarts, Mannaz means Man, Odal means Nobility or Protection, and Dagaz means Time. The symbols that are now etched into my wrist, depict the taking and giving of life.

An ancient Life Debt, a life debt made three generations ago, based on the number of runes.

The old man cast a runic spell, in order to collect a life debt.

"Was that..was that a life debt?" I ask.

"Yes, a very strong and ancient one. I didn't think it would work so well." He confides with mild surprise.

"But..but how?" I ask, instantly regretting my question.

"If you are asking me how I was able to cast magic, I am a half-blood. And half-bloods do have the same magical capacity like any witch or wizard."

"I'm sorry. That was not what I meant. What I mean was..well, my father told me that Malfoys who were exiled will never enter the magical realm again. He said that my ancestors had an agreement with the ministry, which prevents exiled family from entering the magical realm. I just thought that.."

"You thought that I wouldn't have any knowledge on making or casting magic?" The old man finished for me. "Yes, you are right about that. Your great grandfather made sure that my grandfather Faustus and his children would never return from the muggle realm. My grandfather had no intentions to do so."

"Then how were you able make the cast? How did you know about it?"

"It has been taught to me by my father, and father was taught by my grandfather. Faustus Malfoi said that we may use it someday when a situation requires it to do so. I planned to teach the cast to my son, but seeing as you are the only heir of your side of the family, I do not think teaching him is necessary."

"What is this life debt for? This life debt is.." I look at the new marks on my arm. The runes look fresh and alive compared to my death eater mark. The runes glisten with pure innocent untarnished magic. Knowing that death eater mark pale in comparison to the runes that I now have, is strangely comforting.

"The life debt that Professor Snape taught us, in Hogwarts..the school that I studied, was not as complicated as this one." I inform, showing the runes on my arm.

"Our great grandfather might have disowned my grandfather Faustus. But Abraxas, your grandfather, still cared for his brother. When they were just children, Faustus protected Abraxas and saved your grandfather's life a couple of times. Abraxas wanted to return the favor someday." He explains.

The old man takes a small picture frame standing on a bookshelf, and shows it to me.

The picture frame carries a picture of my grandfather and a man I am not familiar with. My grandfather Abraxas was usually controlled and unresponsive to affection, so I find myself intrigued to find him laughing with this stranger who shares similarities with my grandfather. This stranger is Faustus.

Both Abraxas and Faustus appear to be enjoying drinks at a terrace with a view. The brothers were not at all posing for the camera, they were just enjoying each other's company. And maybe sharing a joke.

"Before my grandfather was exiled, Abraxas offered the life debt, which you currently have. Seeing as there is a possibility that they may never see each other again, Abraxas wanted the life debt to be passed down to the next generation. If my grandfather passes away, the life debt can still be collected."

He points out the runes that are on my wrist, counting them one by one.

"Three generations of uncollected debt, was not enough for your grandfather. Abraxas decided that if the next generation wishes for assistance from his family, there would be no limit. Therefore, the life debt was further designed to be strengthened for every generation of my grandfather's family."

"You mean this life debt will never end?" I ask, flabbergasted at the turn of events.

The old man gives me a conniving grin. I don't know if he was merely joking or being serious.

"The debt can end if I am satisfied. The point is that three generations have past, and thus the life debt will be practically limitless. Ethics and morals will make way for the debt to be completed. Even though I will make you do sinister things, you have no choice but to comply with my command." He states.

My vision becomes blurry for a few moments, hearing his explanation becoming more and more dire is coaxing me to have a violent reaction. I tried to rise from the bed, to better protest and confront what appears to be a second agreement on years of mindless turmoil. But he holds my shoulders down.

"Of course, like any life debt, I am still restricted to one specific order for you." He explains.

"And what would that order be?" I ask, gritting my teeth.

He takes my branded arm with the hand he used to cast the spell, and then the runes started to glow once more. This time, I see runes on his own arm as well, reacting to the incoming flow of casting. The old man is attempting to give an order. The magic is powerful and all encompassing. I cannot abstain.

"As the surviving current heir of Faustus Malfoi, I command through the life debt promised, that Draco Malfoy shall serve my family in areas which I shall fit him to do so. This order shall be satisfied upon my death, but only through the absolute agreement of servitude which my family is promised to attain."

Having stated his order, the magic is officially sealed. I can sense a change within my magical core, a binding pull towards the core of another. Only wizards can agree to this oath, and the magic is certain.

After a bout of blinding light, the runes on my arm cease to radiate. The same runic symbols are now showing on the old man's wrist. Compared to mine, his runes are dull and faded. The order is done.

The cast was exhausting, it took a toll on both of us. Especially on the old man.

"It appears I will be skipping dinner for the night. I did not expect to be fatigued after casting the life debt. Well, I did not expect to be casting the life debt at all to be honest. A lot of surprises this evening." He states, standing with a slight wobble and then slowly making his way to the door of the room.

"Since you are not in the mood to publicly show yourself with the family, I will ask the maid to bring some food from the kitchen. Get some rest, and I expect you to join us for dinner tomorrow."

"Haven't you realized what you've done?" I question, causing him to pause.

"I serve you now. How are you any different from my former master?" I defiantly point out.

"You are right, syn. In many ways, you will find that I am similar to your dark lord." He states. The old man then turns and expresses a grim face. "But eventually, you will realize that I am also very different. I won't make you do things that will make you lose yourself to pain and fear. I will make you stronger."

This man was never ordinary from the start, the signs were all there.

He is demanding and manipulative, expecting people to do what he says without hesitation. He is used to taking the upper hand, and refuses to concede with anything beyond his decision. A strategist who exudes respect, he understands the mind of a leader and follower. Because he dealt with many.

I remember the young man in a tuxedo who accompanied the old man in the hospital, the man was respectful towards him. His name was Lev, at least that is what the old man called him. The young man bowed slightly, and followed the old man's ordered without hesitation or delay. Lev respects him.

And the word he called the old man. It was not the old man's name.

The word he used was…Pakhan.

Pakhan..

My eyes widen, reacting to the storm of memories that I go through.

I have heard that name before. It was a distinct name..no..it is a distinct title.

A Pakhan is..the highest authority for a Mafiya. The Russian Mafia.

When I was a boy, I heard it many times. It was a word directed to a man.

A man who looks like Faustus Malfoy.

My eyes glance down to the picture frame that depicts two brothers. Behind Abraxas and Faustus, armed men are composed in the background. The men are distant enough so as not to bring attention right away, but there they are. The men seemed stoic, but they are actually focused on their jobs.

They are body guards of course, security for an important person.

A Pakhan.

Faustus Malfoy was a Pakhan. A Pakhan is a position..and this position was inherited by his son.

Faustus Malfoy's son is Vladimir Malfoi.

Vladimir Malfoi is the Pakhan of a Russian Mafia.

This old man in front of me, seemingly defenseless and unassuming, is a Pakhan.

"What is going on in that head of yours?" The old man asks, noticing my vacant pause.

"I may not have remembered much of my childhood in Moscow, and I cannot speak the language you speak. But I do remember one word: Pakhan. The man named Lev, the one who was with you at the hospital, he called you that word." I state carefully, watching as his face expresses a hint of surprise.

"It appears that I have underestimated your capacity to focus." He says, complimenting me.

His attempt to compliment my observation did not deter me from making my assumption.

"Is that who you are? Are you a leader of a Russian Mafia, a leader of organized crime?" I ask.

He merely raises his brow and grins ominously.

"Just tell me what you really want to ask, syn." He says.

"Are you going to make me torture others, are you going to make me kill people?" I say with a tremble.

"In my line of work, killing and torturing others is an everyday chore." He admits.

My heart stopped. I was not expecting him to answer so bluntly.

"I expect you to come to dinner tomorrow, syn. Do not be late, the runes will burn you." He tells me, before leaving the room.

I am now left with my own demise, alone to realize the possible situation of being condemned yet again.

I listen to the clock hanging on one area of the room. The sound of the clock's ticking hand, does not flood out the sound of crickets singing outside of the window, and wind continues to chill my face. The cool breeze brushes my damp hair, lazily combing through the tense and feverish skin of my head.

Eventually I thaw myself out, and permit myself to express an ounce of despair.

"Why is this happening again..How could you..how could you do this to me?" I slowly react, asking my questions to no one in particular. Perhaps my questions are intended for the old man, or perhaps to a higher supernatural being. I turn my hands into fists, doing my best not to draw water from my eyes.

This is, by far, the worst possible situation that I can be in.

.

 _In Hawaii…  
And kicking back  
Is where you'd find me  
And somewhere underneath  
The palm tree  
On the island of Hawaii…_

 _\- Tom Felton_


End file.
